


Disgrace

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas spies on his father and the bargeman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disgrace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRocknRolla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRocknRolla/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Legolas secretly (can be intentional or not) watches Bard and Thranduil. In movie Legolas hot-headed and reckless in comparison to lotr. Just give me all the jealous and ugly thoughts that goes through his head when he sees his father and Bard. (I don't really care about reasons, maybe he's in love with his father, or wanted Bard to himself, or angry that Thranduil'd "surrender" to a mortal). +1000 if Thranduil and Bard are very affectionate with each other” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=25350261#t25350261).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He should leave. _Immediately_.

There is no excuse for staying, and in a show of strength, Legolas tries to push himself from the door, face turning from the tiny crack that shows the view inside. But then he hears a hitch of breath—his _father’s_ —and with a horrible, traitorous shiver, Legolas turns back to where he was: watching through the ajar doorway as Bard of Dale pounds his father into the mattress. 

It isn’t with pleasure that Legolas watches. There is a bit of desire, of course—how could there not be, with the sight of such a gorgeous elf, spread bare on silver sheets, moonlit hair splayed all around him. Thranduil’s body is arched and slick with a thin sheen of sweat that seems to make him glisten, catch in the filtered light of the stars, and his face is pure _bliss._ His mouth is open wide, plush lips stretched around one elegant moan after another, long lashes fluttering against his cheek. He’s _beautiful_ , achingly handsome, and a horrible, twisted want claws through Legolas’ chest worse than a poisoned orc arrow. 

The man above Thranduil can hardly match such wonder, but he’s still far from ugly. Trim, chiseled with starved muscle, and tanned from the light of the sun, Bard hovers over Thranduil on all fours, except for his knees tucked under Thranduil’s thighs. Legolas is too far away to see the exact slide of the bargeman’s cock into his father’s hole, but he can see and hear and _smell_ the impact of every thrust. Worst still is the way Bard’s fingers wrap so tenderly around Thranduil’s long cock, and the way Thranduil’s delicate fingers tangle in Bard’s hair. He brings Bard down to place slow, languid kisses over Bard’s cheek, Bard’s nose, and the scruff of Bard’s chin. When their lips finally meet to kiss, there’s a _love_ between them that leaves Legolas feeling numb and empty, his fists curling at his sides. 

His father has never kissed him. Not so much as a slight peck on the forehead. And here Thranduil is, showering a mere mortal in affection, brushing so tenderly through his hair and smiling around hushed, whispered words that barely reach Legolas’ ears, things like: _“Yes, right there,”_ and, _“Oh, please, more.”_

 _Please_. Legolas has never heard Thranduil ask for anything in his life. Yet now he wraps his legs around Bard’s hips, his arms around Bard’s shoulders, and he pulls Bard tight against him. Bard rocks into Thranduil, grinding him into the luxurious royal sheets, while Thranduil strokes his skin and moans, “ _Yesss..._ ”

Legolas realizes only belatedly that he’s trembling. He doesn’t know why he’s still watching—it’s _painful_ —but he can’t seem to leave. He watches the luscious lines and curves of Bard’s body and wonders what it would be like to be crushed under that man, why his father finds it so alluring in it, and if it would make his father mad should he try luring Bard into his own bed. For one despicable moment, Legolas plots it out in his mind—catching the bargeman on his next shipment in, luring him up to Legolas’ room, filling him with wine and pleading to be taken. But then he watches his father’s eyes slide open, and he sees the tenderness there. He sees how much his father cares for this unworthy human, and Legolas knows that he could never do anything to shatter that. 

He wonders, instead, what it would be like to slip into the room once Bard has left and suggest that Thranduil needn’t look so far for a man willing to submit. But of course, their relationship is broken enough. So Legolas just stands on the threshold, watching the two lovers exchange sloppy kisses and nuzzle into one another, murmuring sickening terms of endearment. When Bard pets Thranduil’s chin and calls him, “ _My flower,_ ” Legolas has to look away, because he used to be his father’s _little leaf._

He hears more than sees the end—his father gasps and Bard grunts. When Legolas inevitably looks back, Bard is crushing Thranduil down and grinding hard into him, growling in release. Thranduil lies prone on the bed and takes it, looking like he wants nothing more than to rest and be ravished. 

Bard, after several brutal thrusts, pushes back up again. He looks down at Thranduil with all-black eyes, and he drops one hand to pet Thranduil’s cheek. His fingers look grimy, his nails sporting little flecks of dirty, and all Legolas can think is that he isn’t worthy of Thranduil’s flawless being. 

Yet Thranduil cups Bard’s hand against him, then turns to kiss the palm. Bard chuckles fondly and gives Thranduil a final thrust that makes his eyelids flutter and his chest arch. Jealousy burns hot down Legolas’ throat, though he still isn’t sure who, or what, he’s truly jealous of. 

He watches Bard pull out of Thranduil, his cock bobbing in the air, impressive but not as impressive as a king’s. He lies down at Thranduil’s side and wraps Thranduil in his arms, fingers sliding through Thranduil’s long, silken hair. 

Legolas should leave. He knows he should. He wants to slip through the door, drift to them and beg to lie between, but he’s his father’s son, and for all their differences, he does have all the pride of Elven royalty. He knows it would be of no use, anyway. They look at each other in a way that no one’s ever looked at Legolas with, not even his own father. 

He only leaves once they’ve fallen asleep in each other’s arms, peaceful and filthy.


End file.
